The Ongoing Adventures of Meghan
by FebruarySong
Summary: Sequel to "The Awkward Adventures of Meghan Whimblesby." After surviving the War of the Ring, Meghan and Legolas go to Mirkwood to start building the rest of their lives together. But things never go quite as smoothly as planned...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the sequel! This will necessarily be a bit less structured than the original, but I have lots of wonderful and awkward adventures in the works. :) Many thanks to Amelia, who is the best alpha reader in the whole wide world and has helped me more than I can say. Special thanks to inchrist-billios, who temp-beta'ed and saved the day. And now on to the action!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Meghan's side was on fire.

More than on fire, actually – it was being torn apart, rubbed with salt, kicked, cut, shredded. She felt lesser pains in one knee, across her face, on her arms, but nothing, _nothing_ as bad as the profound agony in her side. She looked at her hands, and they were dripping crimson.

_Am I lying down?_ It was hard to tell. Something heavy pressed against her back. _No, wait, that's the ground. I am lying down. _Thinking felt sticky. She could taste bile in her mouth. Her head throbbed. Her side flamed and roared and _it hurts so much please make it stop._

She could hear noises, swords against swords and hoarse Orcish voices and feet beating against the ground. It seemed to be dwindling into the distance, or was that her hearing fading away? She opened her mouth to cry out and found that she was too tired. Darkness blurred the edges of her vision, crackled with pulsations of color that matched the throbbing in her side.

_Why does it hurt so much?_ she wondered. She remembered in flickers, a playback broken by fractals and strobe lights and static. They had reached the edges of Mirkwood just as night fell, so they set up camp and she had drifted off to sleep. A guttural scream, a swarm of mountain goblins, the confusion, a battle. The sudden punch of agony in her side – an arrow lodged just below her ribs.

She tasted iron and acid on the back of her tongue as she tentatively reached out with her fingertips to feel the arrow shaft disappear into her stomach. _It's barbed,_ she thought calmly. _I am so sleepy._

"_Meghan_…"

The voice came from a great distance, and sounded like a whisper even though she knew it must be a shout. Someone was kneeling beside her, shouting while she was trying to go to sleep. She angrily pushed away.

"My Meghan, be still… ai Elbereth!" The voice grabbed her hands and that's when she started screaming, because she was being tied up and she had an arrow in her stomach and she had to get to Legolas—

"Legolas?" she choked, her throat raw with bile.

His hand was in her hair now. "You must stay awake, my Meghan," he said. She could see tears on his lashes.

"It hurts a lot," she said stupidly.

"I know," he replied. "Gwaethir is coming in a moment, just stay awake."

Drowsiness curled around her like a riptide. "I'll only sleep for a minute," she reasoned as her eyelids drifted closed.

"Meghan!" He grabbed her chin, jogging her awake. "No, my Meghan, _stay awake_."

She stared at him, confused. The pain in her side would go away if she could just sleep it off, but Legolas wanted her to stay awake? It didn't make sense. And now he was shouting for his brother in a voice that sounded like heartbreak and she wondered why he was so afraid.

* * *

He knew that Meghan's heartbeat was slowing down because he could see the blood pumping out of her in time with her pulse. He knew that abdominal wounds were particularly dangerous because if the internal organs were harmed, the body could poison itself from the inside out. He knew that Meghan was going to die if she didn't stop bleeding. And he knew that he didn't know enough to help her without possibly making it much, much worse.

"Gwaethir!" he shouted again, throat raw and hands shaking.

His brother finally appeared, throwing down a satchel and kneeling on the other side of Meghan in one swift movement. "How long?" he asked tersely as he tore a long rent in her shirt to see the wound more easily.

"Only a few moments," Legolas replied.

"Keep her awake."

"Meghan, come back," Legolas implored. Her eyes roved blindly and her fingers feebly clutched at his jerkin. He grabbed her chin again, forcing her to look at him. "I am here. Stay with me."

"I feel sick," she said in a faint voice.

"I know, but you have to stay awake." His hands were covered in her blood and he finally understood why she was afraid of it. Blood had never bothered him before, but seeing so much of hers made him remember anew that it was _lifeblood_. It was precious, and it was seeping out of her.

"The arrow goes deep," Gwaethir said, "and it is barbed. I will have to break off the fletching and then push it wholly through."

"_Through_?" Legolas balked.

"To pull it out will surely kill her," Gwaethir nodded. "Look. It sits low, under the ribs, and it is nearly out her back anyway. Trust me, little brother."

For split second, Legolas hung in the balance. "I trust you," he said.

"Turn her on her side." Gwaethir dug through his satchel for a moment before handing Legolas a thick strip of leather. "And put this between her teeth."

Meghan had drifted back into a half-world of glazed eyes and unsteady breathing. Legolas had to jostle her roughly to recall her attention. "You're still here," she said, surprised. He tried to be gentle as he rolled her onto the opposite side of her wound, but she still hissed in pain.

"Bite down on this," he said.

"Why?" She shrank away, some part of her at least dimly suspecting his answer.

"So that you do not bite off your tongue," he replied. "This will hurt very, very much."

She meekly accepted the leather between her teeth and clenched her hands around Legolas' own. He could see the tears already forming in her eyes, but he also could see her steeling herself. Her ability to master her panic and fear still surprised him. He glanced up at Gwaethir, and his brother nodded that it was time.

* * *

Meghan was screaming.

She wanted to fight back against the pain that flamed in her side as Gwaethir grasped the end of the arrow that protruded from her belly. Seconds lasted hours. Every nerve ending in her body radiated torment. She couldn't see through the haze of tears, and she didn't want to look anyway. Finally, after what must have been a hundred years, the arrow snapped just below the fletching and Gwaethir tossed the broken half away.

"Hold her steady," she heard him say. "This will be worse."

_No!_ Meghan wanted to shriek but the leather got in her way. Before she could resist, Legolas pinned her arms down and wedged his foot over both her ankles, completely restraining her with his body. Then Gwaethir began to push the arrow through.

This pain was the worst of all. She tried to writhe away from the exquisite agony even as Legolas put more of his weight over her to keep her still. He was whispering something to her, probably words of comfort, but she couldn't understand him over her own screams. She could feel every muscle, every nerve, every fibre tearing as the arrowhead pushed through her side, and then the skin on her lower back splitting open.

_Stay awake,_ she wailed to herself, because that was the only coherent thought she had left to hang onto.

* * *

Once the arrow was completely out, Meghan stopped screaming and subsided into sobs. Legolas cautiously eased his weight off her, fearing she would start thrashing again, but she lay still other than the shudders that racked her body. Meanwhile, Gwaethir had pressed thick swathes of cloth over both wounds.

"She is strong," he said. "That is a difficult pain to bear."

"Will she—" The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, and Legolas had to clear his throat.

"The next few hours will tell," Gwaethir said. "It is difficult to say if her internal organs were much harmed, and the arrow may have been poisoned. But see, the bleeding already lessens."

As if on cue to the word _bleeding_, Meghan threw up.

"Sit her upright," Gwaethir said, not daunted in the least.

Legolas shifted back onto his knees, drawing Meghan with him. She sagged against his chest as her fingers fluttered uselessly across his back. Her breathing came harsh and uneven.

Gwaethir pressed a poultice over the wounds and then wrapped a heavy bandage around her torso. "I must go see to Urúvien," he said. "He took a gash down the thigh, thought not so severe as this. For now, keep her still until the rest are ready to depart. We will move camp soon." He gathered the last of his supplies and, with a nod, hurried away.

"We're leaving?" Meghan mumbled thickly. Her gaze was flickering randomly around, and he noticed a red stain around the iris in her left eye – a burst blood vessel, probably from screaming.

"We must. There may be more goblins near, and we have not the numbers to oppose a larger pack of them. We will be safer in the forest." Around them, the other Elves were working quickly so that they could leave, but Legolas was barely even aware of them.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she struggled to maintain consciousness. "Then I like the forest."

"I hope that you will come to love these trees as I do," Legolas murmured against her hair. "My brother says the woods are whole again, and the corruption of Dol Guldor is no more. Would that you had come to my home in any way but this!"

"When are we going?" she mumbled. "I really want to sleep, Legolas."

"Soon, my Meghan. Already they have begun to strike camp and saddle the horses."

She sucked in a sharp gasp as he shifted her weight a little so that he could see her face. "I don't feel good," she croaked thickly. Her lips and the skin under her eyes had turned ashen, like the beginning of a bruise. "I want my mom."

A pang of guilt hollowed out his gut, although it wasn't his fault that she would never see her family again. She cut off his reply, however, by choking out a gurgling cough.

"Ouch," she panted, her eyes rolling back a bit. "_Hurts._ Ouch."

Dread coiled sickly around the base of his spine. Despite himself, his hand shook as he reached out to touch her darkened lips, and wiped away the blood that had coated them. "Meghan," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "I think perhaps I had better call my brother back for a moment."

"Why?" she slurred just before her breath hitched in her throat, as if she was realizing something. "My mouth tastes weird." She tried to lift a hand to her lips, but he caught it and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"You must be still," he said.

"It really really hurts." Her eyes were luminous in the dim moonlight – and was he just imagining the grey pallor of her skin? "I think I'm going to die."

"You are _not_ going to die," he said, smoothing away a fresh tear from her cheek. "Your body is already healing. You simply need time."

She replied by vomiting down his chest.

"Oh _nooooo,_" she moaned. "I barfed on you. I'm sor—" But she couldn't finish her words, because she choked on another mouthful of blood and sick.

"Gwaethir!" Legolas shouted as he angled her face so that she wouldn't suffocate on her own vomit. His brother reappeared with seconds, and knelt to assess Meghan where she lay half in Legolas' arms. Gwaethir's face remained carefully impassive, an expression that Legolas knew he reserved for the most grave situations so that he wouldn't frighten the patient.

"What ails her?" Legolas asked in a low voice.

"She _was_ shot in the stomach," he replied mildly, although his mouth tightened as he peeled back the bandage from her abdomen to reveal a dark, sickly stain on the skin around her wound. He placed his hand flat against Meghan's stomach, just above the discoloration. "How are you feeling, Meghan?"

She winced at the contact, then hazily refocused on him. "Twirly," she whispered. "What's wrong with me?"

"You are fine," Gwaethir said, but Legolas knew differently.

Meghan wasn't fooled, either. "No, ouch, hurts," she wheezed, starting to hyperventilate. "This is—this is not okay—" She struggled to sit up, but both brothers gently lay a hand on her to keep her still.

"You must stay calm," Gwaethir said. "I believe your stomach was torn or perhaps even ruptured by the arrowhead, and the wound does seem to have been poisoned."

"What do we need to do?" Legolas asked quietly.

His brother looked grave. "I do not have the supplies to treat her properly. Were it a surface wound I could draw the infection out, but this goes too deep. I think it would be best to take her to Father. The hands of the king, after all."

"Are the hands of a healer," Legolas finished, and didn't wait for any more information. He scooped Meghan into his arms and strode over to the horses. Arod whickered restlessly, dancing a little despite the long night without much rest.

"Wait, little brother," Gwaethir said, following. "It would be unwise for you to ride ahead with her alone. It is still a full day's journey at least, perhaps two."

"If we remain with the company, it will be longer," Legolas said helplessly.

"I did not mean that _Meghan_ should wait. You have not studied medicine as I have. Let me take your lady by the swiftest road, since I know how best to treat her along the way."

There wasn't even time for Legolas to think through this option, because Meghan sucked in a deep, choking breath and turned her head away just before throwing up again. She followed this with a wet sob.

"Take Arod," Legolas said, grinding his teeth. "He is used to bearing two."

Gwaethir nodded, already swinging up into the saddle. "She is going to be fine," he said as Legolas passed Meghan up to him. "The first bout of illness is often the worst."

"Guard her well," Legolas said. He turned to Meghan, but she had already slipped into fever dreams. He pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist, drawing comfort from the warmth of her skin and the thrum of her pulse.

"I will see you a few days, brother," Gwaethir said, and with that he was gone.

* * *

Meghan drifted into a cacophony of sounds.

They were all innately familiar to her, but at the same time very, _very_ wrong. The caterwaul of sirens. Slow, steady beeping. A low rumble that she couldn't quite place until, with a pop, she realized it was an engine. She opened her eyes.

She was in the back of an ambulance.

* * *

**Author's Note:** OHHHHHHHH MY STARS I cannot even tell you guys how long I have waited to post this chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Woah! I am blown away by the response to this sequel. Thank you so much everyone for reading, reviewing, and alerting! *hugs to all*

* * *

_**Super Brief Recap:**__ Meghan was badly wounded just outside of Mirkwood, and she wakes up in the back of an ambulance._

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

The beeping suddenly intensified as she shot upward with a huge gasp.

"Woah! Easy there," an unfamiliar voice exclaimed.

Her head was pounding and she couldn't quite get her vision to focus all the way. She reached up to rub her eyes, only to realize that there was an IV taped to the back of her hand. Her first instinct was to pull it out, but the paramedic reached across her body and covered her hand with his own.

"Ma'am, you need to lie down," he said, his voice all cheerful professionalism with that edge of _if you don't do what I say than I will dose you with anesthesia so fast you won't even feel your eyes close_.

"What…?" she managed to choke through the soreness in her throat.

"You had a nasty fall, and we are transporting you to the local hospital," the paramedic replied, still tense. "We'll be there in a moment, so if you'll just lie down, please."

"Where's Legolas?" she slurred. Everything felt slippery and wrong, but the one thing that grounded her was that she wanted him and he wasn't there.

The paramedic gave her an odd look. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm not sure I can answer that. Now, I just need you to lie back down and relax."

"No, you don't understand," she said, her voice rising in intensity. "This isn't right. I'm not here! How did I get here?"

"Alright," the paramedic shrugged, and it seemed that he drugged her because she tumbled into a deep grey haziness. The next thing she knew, she opened her eyes in a very white, very square hospital room.

"…Honey?"

Just the voice was enough to bring tears into Meghan's eyes. "_Mom?_" she whispered, turning toward the sound. Her mother leaned forward, her well-loved and familiar face warmed by a smile.

"Hey, Megs," she said as she reached over to press a hand to Meghan's cheek. Meghan blinked back tears at the touch, reveling in the relief of simply having her there. Even the feeling of wrongness had faded away, because how could anything be wrong when her mother was holding her hand?

"What happened?" Meghan asked. "How am I here?"

"You tripped down a flight of stairs," her mom replied with a sympathetic half-smile. "No broken bones, but you hit your head pretty hard at the bottom and passed out. Eight stitches."

"No, that's not what happened," Meghan said slowly. "I'm not supposed to be here. I got shot in the stomach."

"No, no you didn't, honey," her mom said, her brows drawing together. "No one shot you."

"It hurt _really_ bad," Meghan insisted. "We were just inside of a forest and we were ambushed. Legolas was too far away from me when the Orcs came—"

"Megs," her mother interrupted. "The doctors warned us about this. I know you're pretty confused right now, but it's because you had a concussion. They said that this kind of head injury can cause some pretty wild delusions."

Meghan felt like she had been punched in the lungs. "_What?_"

"You've just been dreaming, honey," her mom said. "You've been here the whole time."

"But I was _there_."

"It's okay, Megs. It might take a little time to wake up all the way. You just gotta shake it off, like a nightmare."

"It wasn't a nightmare!" Meghan said. "I mean, parts of it were, but it was mostly good and it was _right_ and he was there…" An icy pulse of doubt coiled in her stomach, and she choked down the sudden, irrational urge to scream. "I didn't dream him, did I? Oh my god, did I dream him up?"

"Dream who up, honey?" Her mother's brows were wrinkled with confusion. "You're not seeing anyone right now, not that I know about."

"_Oh my god_," Meghan breathed out, hot tears forming in her eyes again. "None of it was real. It was a dream the whole time! He wasn't real."

Her mom's face crumpled in compassion. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she crawled into the hospital bed and gathered her into her arms. Meghan clung to her, pent up sobs starting to wrench from her throat in shuddering gasps.

She was dimly aware of the room filling with nurses, probably because the monitors were beeping wildly or because her mother had pushed the panic button. All Meghan could do, though, was cry into her mom's cardigan. It had all been a dream, and she had lost someone that she never had to begin with.

"…really needs to rest," an unfamiliar voice was saying. "All this excitement could aggravate any swelling on her brain."

"I know, I'm sorry," her mom's voice replied. "I'm not sure why she's so upset."

"We'll have to medicate her," a nurse said, sounding grim.

And Meghan faded away, back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When she woke up, the room was mostly dark. She could see the dim silhouette of her mother curled up on a flimsy recliner in the corner, sleeping with her head pillowed on her arms. Beyond that, sunlight peeped around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains on the windows, and Meghan guessed it must be an hour or two past dawn.

"Mom?" she whispered, guilty to wake her.

Her mother instantly stirred and blinked her eyes open. "Hey Megs," she said in a sleepy voice as she reached up to touch the light switch. "How do you feel?"

_She wants to know if I remember last night,_ Meghan thought, flinching away from the sudden light in the room. _Whether I'm going to be sad._

"My head hurts," she replied, because explaining that her heart ached for a figment of her own imagination just seemed like too much work. "Can we go home soon?" Except, she wasn't quite sure where home was anymore.

"I think the doctors just want to do a few tests with you before they release you," her mom said. "I'll call them in. It's just routine stuff, like whether you can count to ten and stuff. They thought there might have been some swelling or something on your brain, but it was nothing. You're not allowed to drive for four weeks, though."

"Ok," she said. The idea of driving a car instead of riding a horse seemed absolutely ridiculous, anyway.

Her mom was bustling around the room, a sure indication of how anxious she still felt. "I called your work and explained everything to them, and your boss said to take the time you need. You should get paid leave—"

"I don't have a job," Meghan interrupted.

"Well, then that's news to me," her mom said. "Are you telling me that you've actually been running a drug cartel for the last three years?"

"What? No," Meghan said, wrinkling up her nose. "I just started college."

"Honey," her mom said as she gave her a startled look. "You _graduated_ college already. You've been working at a pediatrician's office since two thousand eleven."

"Two thousand _eleven_?" Meghan choked. "What year is it _now_?"

"It's twenty-fourteen," her mom said. "Don't you remember?"

_How much have I lost?_ Meghan thought with a sick chill in her stomach. "The last thing I remember… the last thing _here_ was being at school, and Andrea and I were doing some weird experiment in the lab, and I think I passed out."

"That was seven years ago, honey," her mom replied, and just then there was a brisk knock on the door. "Come in!"

A male nurse entered, smiling pleasantly and holding a clipboard. "Good morning, Mrs. Whimblesby. Good morning, Meghan. I'm Brian, and I'll be taking care of you for the rest of your stay. How are you feeling today?"

"I'm twenty-six," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Brian asked.

"She doesn't remember the last seven years," her mom said. "Is that normal? I know she hit her head pretty hard, but… is she going to get those years back?"

"Memory loss is pretty common after a concussion," Brian said, putting the clipboard down and moving closer to Meghan's hospital bed. "Let me just page the doctor. All your brain scans looked great, but it never hurts to be thorough. Meghan, can you count up to forty using only even numbers?"

The rest of the morning passed in something of a blur to her. She had to go through countless mental clarity tests, all of which she passed. Finally the doctors agreed that there was nothing they could do and that her memories would likely return over time, and meanwhile booked her an appointment with a therapist for the following week. She signed all the documents they put before her and, after what felt like a month, walked out of the hospital with her mom.

"Andrea just texted me," her mom said, looking down at her phone. "She said you haven't returned any of her texts or calls."

Meghan didn't want to admit it was because she had no idea how to operate the smartphone the hospital staff had returned to her along with the rest of her personal effects. "I have a hard time looking at the screen for too long with this headache," she said, although her head really didn't hurt much anymore. "Can you tell her what's happened?"

"I already did. She wants to know if you're coming to your apartment, or if you would rather go home with me."

"I have an apartment?"

"Yes, you and Andrea shared one right out of school. It's cute, it's on the third floor." Meghan could tell that her mom was trying desperately to act normal for her sake – which she appreciated, because without her support she would probably run screaming into the night.

"If that's where I've lived for the last three years, shouldn't I go there? Maybe it will jog my memory," she said.

"Sure, honey, if that's what you want. Would you like me to stay with you there?"

In all the dark nights of homesickness, Meghan had only wanted her mom. But now, walking through the cold concrete parking deck filled with rows of cars, she needed to be alone. "That's alright, Mom, but thanks. I'm still pretty tired, so I think I'll just take a nap once we get there."

The drive to her apartment felt weird. Meghan couldn't relax at what seemed like the impossibly breakneck speed of the car, and the noise of traffic was a cacophony in her ears. By the time her mom pulled into a parking space in front of the apartment building, Meghan's head was pounding again in earnest. She was hardly aware of her surroundings as her mom shepherded her up the stairs and into a small, tidy apartment.

"Andrea texted me on the way over that she begged off for the afternoon so she can come home sooner. She's bringing lunch, said she would pick up your usual order."

"Cool," Meghan said, wondering what her usual would be.

"Your brother said he's been trying to call you all morning," she continued.

"Which one?" Meghan would never understand why her mother always used a generic _your brother_ when she had three.

"Evan." She started digging through her purse to pull out her phone. "Look, he sent this recording and asked if it was an instant replay." She tapped the screen and it began to play a video of an old man dramatically tumbling down a flight of stairs.

Meghan laughed despite herself. "Tell him he's a jerk and he hasn't changed at all in seven years."

"Oh honey, I'm not gonna say that," her mom said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll say you love him _and_ that he's a jerk."

"I'll text him later. I just want to get settled first."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you, Megs?" her mom asked. "I don't feel right leaving you alone so soon out of the hospital."

"I'll be fine, really. But thanks. I'll call you in a couple hours?" She knew her mom liked specifics, so she looked for a clock and picked an arbitrary time later that afternoon. "I'll call you at four o'clock."

"Ok, baby. Call me for anything. I love you so much."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you to the moon and back." Meghan reached out, and her arms were immediately filled with her mom. "When I was – when I was out, I thought I would never see you again. I'm so glad that you're here. Give my love to dad, and tell him I'll talk to him soon. At four."

Her mom squeezed tight before letting her go and wiping away a rogue tear. "I will, honey. Four o'clock sharp, mind you." And with that, she was gone.

The apartment felt hollow when the door clicked shut behind her. Meghan gingerly flipped on a light switch in the hall and poked open the first door she came across. It was a bedroom all in shades of blue, from the walls to the bedspread. Even though she rationally knew that she lived here, it still felt like an invasion of privacy to go in.

The room across the hall was another bedroom, which she immediately knew must be Andrea's. She still even had some of the same furniture from college. It smelled like tea leaves and perfume, and Meghan wondered how much her friend had changed in the seven years. She quietly shut the door again.

Next was a coat closet, and beyond that a bathroom. The sight of the tub made Meghan remember how long it had been since she had showered. She went back to the blue room and pulled out a change of clothes before realizing that she had known which drawers to open without looking. _Maybe I'm getting some memories back…?_

Turning on the tap in the shower felt nothing short of magical. She couldn't help but laugh as the hot water flowed over her hands. She quickly peeled off her clothes and stepped in, reveling in the sensation of _running water_. It was so easy to wash her hair – she could just tilt her head back under the stream, instead of tediously rinsing it in a basin.

The mirror was fogged up when she got back out, so once she dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats and a hoodie, she wiped some of the steam away with the corner of her towel. Her reflection startled her a little. The face looking back at her looked a little sadder and a little older than she remembered. She reached up to brush back some of her wet curls, and saw that her ears were rounded instead of pointed. _Don't be crazy,_ she told herself firmly. _It was a very, very realistic dream. Your brain suffered trauma and that was the best way to process it. You are here, you are human, this is real life._

The apartment was too quiet as she padded back into the living room. She wished she could turn some music on, but weren't any visible players and her phone was still too complicated to try yet. So instead she settled onto the couch, wondering where she could possibly begin to catch up.

Maybe she dozed off, or maybe she just got lost in her own thoughts, but it hardly seemed like any time had passed when the lock clicked open and Andrea breezed in, laden with bags.

"Got you chicken and broccoli with white rice, Jason Bourne," she said as she threw her purse onto the ledge next to the door. "Wait, do you even remember Jason Bourne? Oh man, I am the most insensitive friend ever. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Meghan said, grateful that her usual order was something she actually liked. How long had it been since she'd eaten Chinese takeout?

"Me too," Andrea replied breezily as she brought the plastic bag of food over to the coffee table and plopped into the chair across from Meghan. "So what do you want to know?"

"What?"

"Your mom said you have amnesia. So what do you want to know? _Lost_ finally ended and it was really confusing." Andrea had opened her carton and already started to eat, but that didn't stop her from maintaining a steady stream of information. "Stefanie moved to New York City and got engaged to an investment banker who's in his forties, which sounds gross but he's actually pretty cool. Um, the Backstreet Boys got back together. And Fall Out Boy broke up and then got back together. Any of this ringing a bell?"

Meghan stirred her food. "No. Are you sure about the Backstreet Boys? I feel like I would remember that."

"Also, Justin Timberlake got huge. Like, so famous, Meg."

"Who's Justin Timberlake?"

"Oh honey. We'll have a crash course of the last seven years once we're done with dinner. What's the last thing you remember? If you're okay talking about it, that is."

She could see that Andrea had caught herself, and wondered how much her mom had told her about the way she woke up. "I remember that awful intro to biology lab that we had to take – the one like a high school lab? It was the day we dissected piglets, and the blood made me sick so I made you do all the hard stuff."

"You passed out that day," Andrea said. "You hit your head so hard on the desk behind you that we all thought for sure you were dead. Oh man, that was our first semester of college! We were totally babies back then. What about before that class? Like, how clearly do you remember all that stuff?"

"Like it happened a few months ago," Meghan said. "It's like I passed out there in the lab, and woke up in Middle– well, woke up in…"

"…the hospital?" Andrea tried to prompt her.

"Yeah," Meghan finished lamely, because it seemed like her mom had kept her secret of crying over the fictional dreamscape that she'd lived in for what seemed like months. "Listen, Andrea, I actually don't think I'm up for this. Do you mind if we just watch a movie or something?"

"Sure. I'll clean up." She stood and scooped the now-empty cartons off the table with a reassuring smile. "Movies are in the cabinet beside the TV. Pick whatever you like."

"Thanks," Meghan said, unfolding herself from the couch to start rifling through the DVDs. "Did anything really good come out in the last seven years?" She shifted aside one stack and began sorting through the next. They were mostly rom-coms, with a sprinkling of action or documentaries mixed in. Most of them were already familiar to her, but she wanted something new.

Andrea spoke loud enough that she could be heard from the kitchen through the hall. "Sandra Bullock was in a great one last year, I think we have it. And there was a cool BBC series that I just got in the mail last week…"

Meghan's hearing seemed to grey out as all her attention focused in on the DVD case in her hands. She suddenly felt nauseous, and was it just her imagination or did her stomach hurt, just below the ribs? "What is—" Her voice cracked, and she tried again. "What's this movie?"

"Hmm?" Andrea's head popped around the corner and Meghan tilted the cover so she could see it. "Oh! That's the second Hobbit movie. I special-ordered the cover with Legolas and the Mirkwood gang on it. Meghan – oh my god, Meghan are you…"

She could feel herself falling, although strangely it felt more like floating upward into a thick, syrupy ocean. The last thing she was aware of was Andrea shaking her shoulder before she tumbled into oblivion.

The next time Meghan woke up, she was in hell.

* * *

Many thanks, as ever, to Amelia, who encourages me to make the story better even when I want to give up. (And who sneakily edits things in.)

07.31.14


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** You guys! I am totally, completely blown away by y'all's reviews. Thank you so much for sticking with me! 3

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

The first sensation that returned to her as she came to was that she had screamed so much that her vocal cords felt like shards of glass. Then in a rush the rest of the pain flooded back in, and she tried to scream again. She wanted to physically fight back against the agony pulsing through her body, but she realized that strangers dressed in grey were holding down her arms and legs.

That only made her wilder to get away. It felt like the insides of her entire body were being sucked out of her lower abdomen and everything _hurt_ and she was never, ever going to be safe again. She kicked out and arched her back, straining to pull away. _Where is my mom? Where is Legolas?_ It hurt to breath, but she couldn't stop gulping in deep gasps of air as the tears started again.

One stranger, an impossibly tall Elf man whose hands were hovering above her stomach, barked a quick order to someone. The words sounded half-familiar to Meghan, like she had heard them before – but she was too exhausted and frightened to puzzle them out. She twisted away from the man's hands, because it seemed like that was the source of the pain in her stomach.

Just then a dark-haired woman appeared at her shoulder, looking grim. She pinched Meghan's nose shut and extended a cup to her lips.

"_No—_" Meghan shrieked despite the agony on her raw throat. She turned her head as far to the side as she could, desperate to avoid whatever drug they wanted to give her. It didn't matter – the cup followed her, and even though she held her breath, after a moment she had to choke down the tasteless medicine or suffocate herself.

Even as the bitter liquid settled into her stomach, she could feel its effects. Her limbs became heavier and her vision blurred, and after three heavy heartbeats thudded in her ears, she fell asleep.

* * *

For the first time in what felt like ages, Meghan was not afraid as she slowly bubbled toward consciousness. The room was quiet and infused with a warm amber light, and she was lying back in a wonderfully fluffy bed. It took an enormous effort, but she managed to tilt her head a little. Sitting in a chair beside her, the tall healer from before was reading an exquisitely bound volume on what appeared to be botany.

He must have noticed her stirring, because he looked up from his book at her with eyes so blue that they looked like a clear sky reflected on ice. In her sleep and drug addled state, Meghan had the absurd urge to touch his eyebrows.

She tried to ask if she could, but all that came out was "Hrmg?" _No – what – you can't touch his eyebrows_, she thought. A moment passed as he waited for her to come out of her fog. Finally she remembered how to speak and managed to slur, "Where'm I?"

"In the healer's wing of Nídhrond," the man replied. His voice was rich and measured, and though he didn't quite speak slowly, there was a weight to each word. "Gwaethir delivered you here, and I drew the poison from your wound."

She unconsciously reached for her stomach, and felt the lump of bandages there under the light nightshirt she wore. "It hurt a lot."

"You fought us fiercely for one so gravely ill." A hint of a smile quirked the corner of his mouth, but she couldn't decide what it meant. "It was necessary to medicate you. Had you continued to struggle, you would have undone the healing we began. You were very near to death."

_Was that meant as an apology for force-feeding me knockout drugs?_ "Thank you for saving me," she said. Then she hesitated, somehow afraid to hear the answer to her next question. "Where – where is Legolas?"

He regarded her silently for a moment, his eyes inscrutable. "We expect him and the rest of the company by nightfall."

"So he's real," she whispered.

The look he gave her was half a question and half a frown. "Yes."

Something inside her uncoiled a little at his words. She couldn't clearly remember anything after the horrible surge of fear when the Orcs first attacked, but she instinctively knew that waking up so peacefully just now had cost her something. Still, she didn't really have a choice other than to trust this man. She relaxed back into the pillows, willing herself to stay calm.

"You should not sleep again until this evening," the healer said. Though he phrased it as a suggestion, it was clearly meant as a command. "I will have books sent here if you care to pass the time by reading."

"Actually, I'm mostly just hungry. And I can't read the Sindarin letters yet anyway." She caught herself, remembering she was supposed to be an Elf from Rivendell and there was no reason that she couldn't read. "I mean, my head hurts too much to read yet."

He smiled as he stood, and Meghan had the uncanny feeling that he saw right through her deception and tolerated it anyway. "I will send to the kitchens for a suitable meal. You must eat light, for your stomach was torn by the arrow. It may be some weeks before you are fully recovered."

"But I will be alright, won't I?" She hadn't meant for it to sound so childlike.

"Yes," he replied patiently. "The arrowhead was infused with a wasting poison that had begun to defile your blood. You may feel that your strength is somewhat diminished for a time, but that will pass."

"Okay," she breathed, nodding.

"Lie still for now. Your wounds are still knitting together again. If you want for anything, pull that cord and someone will attend to you." By then, he had gone to the door and opened it.

Meghan turned to see a little silvery cord suspended by the head of her bed. It seemed impossibly lavish to have a personal bell, until she remembered that she was betrothed to a prince of the realm and this was probably a private room for convalescing royalty.

"Thanks," she said, but she turned back only in time to see the door close as the tall healer left. _How am I ever going to stay awake?_ Meghan thought, glancing around the room. It was beautifully appointed, but the dim lights and faint herbal smell had already made her sleepy.

An Elf woman brought in a tray of food a little while later, but she didn't seem to speak the Common Tongue and Meghan could only manage an awkward _thank you_ in Sindarin. The food really was as light as the healer had promised – a soft roll, a sweet apple already thinly sliced, and a small portion of something like clotted cream.

She spent the rest of the afternoon fighting to stay awake. Now that she was alone, the ache for Legolas grew to be almost intolerable. She knew he must still not be back yet, because he would come to her as soon as he could. But as the time stretched into hours without even the sound of footsteps outside the door, Meghan began to wonder if she had been forgotten. Surely there must be news!

She had just dozed off when she startled awake by the sound of the door opening. Her heart soared up for a split second until she realized it was Gwaethir, looking apologetic.

"Hey," she said sleepily, trying to mask her disappointment.

"How do you feel?" he asked as he fully entered the room.

"Good. Better." She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just after sunset." He had gone to a chest of drawers on the far wall and began sorting through it, pulling out various items.

"Where's Legolas?"

His hands stilled for a split second, and Meghan's breath suddenly felt heavy in her ribcage.

"Is he okay?" she asked, a little shrill this time.

"He seems to be delayed," Gwaethir said, quickly turning to face her with a placating expression. "There could be any number of reasons the company is overdue. Remember that Urúvien took a wound akin to yours."

"But he's real," she insisted, although she still wasn't sure why it was so important to make certain again. "Legolas is real, right? I haven't been dreaming?"

"He is as real as you or I," Gwaethir replied with a look not unlike the healer's from before. "But I cannot speak for your dreams. You spoke strangely while your fever was high."

"I don't really remember," she lied. Flickers were coming back to her, although they were more like single snapshots instead of full memories.

He went back to the drawer. "I am sorry that your awakening during the healing was so difficult. You had been comatose while I rushed to the city, but as soon as my father laid hands on you to draw out the poison, you woke in great pain."

"It doesn't hurt much now," she said. "Only when I move too much. Wait – your father?"

"Yes. There is some old power that lends a king greater potency to heal within his kingdom. That is why we hastened here, for I feared your ailment was beyond my skill."

"That tall guy is your dad?" Meghan couldn't even process the healing thing – she could only focus on who had done it.

"My father _is_ very tall," Gwaethir replied. By then he had gathered all his supplies from the drawers and come to her bedside. "Did you not know it was he when you spoke with him earlier?"

"No." She was trying to remember what she had said to Thranduil and whether she had done anything foolish.

Gwaethir smiled at her. "Your concern is written plainly across your face. Be at ease! A healer cannot help but bond with his patient, and my father is not often called upon to heal the beloved of one of his children. You have already made a very good beginning."

"Okay," she sighed. "I just – I just wish Legolas was here."

"I am certain that the company will return soon," Gwaethir said. "There is little that could keep my brother from you. But come, I did not visit you solely to talk. Your wound must be cleaned and the bandages changed. Can you sit up?"

"I think so," Meghan replied. It hurt to use the muscles in her stomach, but she managed to push herself upright. She rolled up her shirt to make a gap between it and her leggings so that Gwaethir could see the wound. As he gently peeled the first bandage back, she turned away with a grimace.

"My sister is wild to meet you," Gwaethir said in an easy tone, and Meghan knew he wanted to distract her.

"Oh?" she huffed through clenched teeth. Now that someone was messing with it, her stomach hurt horribly and it took a considerable amount of willpower to stay still.

"She would curl up at the foot of your bed like a cat if she could," he said at the same time that he eased the second bandage off her back. She hissed in pain, but he continued speaking. "I think she is preparing a systematic curriculum of our personal family history for you. Name days, milestones, embarrassing stories – she will be your guide, though she is the youngest of our household and was not yet born to see most of what she is eager to share with you."

"Couldn't she come and visit me? I would love to have company."

"She likely knows that it is better for you to rest," Gwaethir replied. He had been working quickly while he talked, and now he pressed a fresh bandage over the entry and exit wounds. "Can you hold this against your belly for a moment?"

Meghan saw that he couldn't hold the bandages and wind the extra length around her waist to bind them at the same time. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and put a hand over the dressing. She kept talking so that she didn't have to think about how close she was to touching her own injury. "Your dad told me not to sleep until this evening."

"It _is_ evening now," Gwaethir said as he brushed her hand away with the bandage roll. "Your body still has much to mend. If you can sleep through the night, I think you will begin to feel whole again by the morning."

_I won't feel whole again until Legolas gets here,_ she thought with an ache, but the thought was too lovesick to say out loud. "I'll try," she replied instead.

"There." Gwaethir tied off the length of bandage. "Surely it is time for another meal. Have you a need of anything more?"

"Well to be honest," she said, leaning back into the pillows, "I really need to pee."

"That is a reasonable request," he said with a face so serious that she knew he must be trying not to laugh. "I already meant to ask Nesseldë to attend you. I will do so now."

"Thanks," Meghan said. Although she still wasn't particularly comfortable with the idea of being _attended_, she didn't think she could stand up and walk on her own yet.

Gwaethir had risen and taken away the old bandages. "She will bring your supper and help you with whatever you need. Sleep well, _tithennaug._ Your bonny prince will be delivered back into your arms by the time you wake."

"He better be," Meghan said firmly. "Or else I'll just have to go and rescue him."

"All the monsters from here to Ered Luin tremble at the thought," Gwaethir said dramatically, halfway out the door. He gave her a fond smile. "Nesseldë will come in a moment. Good night."

"Goodnight," she replied, and then he was gone.

Sure enough, the same Elf woman from before returned, carrying another tray of food nearly identical to the first. She smiled tentatively and set the tray on the table beside Meghan's bed.

"_I eneth nîn Nesseldë,_" she said, and it took Meghan a long, bewildered moment to realize she had introduced herself.

"_Im Meghan_," she replied, struggling to remember basic Sindarin. Most of what she had learned with Legolas was vocabulary, but the grammar still eluded her.

Either the slim healer maiden didn't need communication to know what to do, or she had been instructed not to talk much, because Nesseldë went straight to work. Meghan had never in her life been helped to the bathroom, and she fought down the humiliation that accompanied it. And though it felt good to stretch her legs, even the short walk to privy chamber and back left her grinding her teeth in pain. Nesseldë was a patient aide, though, and once Meghan eased back into bed, the healer gave her another reassuring smile.

"_Posto vae, bainrodel_," she said.

Now that the embarrassment was over, Meghan finally looked fully at her. She was tall, like all Elves, and had a warm, deep complexion and the most beautiful eyes Meghan had ever seen – green, flecked with gold.

"_Hannon le,_" Meghan thanked her.

Nesseldë dipped her head and turned toward the door.

"Wait," Meghan choked out. The healer stopped, her long, dark braid swinging as she turned her head back to the bed. Meghan wanted to ask if they would send her any updates they got about Legolas, but she couldn't even begin to translate the question. So instead she just repeated her thanks with an apologetic smile, willing Nesseldë to read between the lines.

But Nesseldë nodded again, offered one more smile, and disappeared out the door.

Alone again, the room seemed very quiet. Meghan couldn't tell if it was just her imagination, or if the lights had actually dimmed to a deeper twilight. She had absolutely no sense of what time it might be, and she shifted uneasily in her bed. Despite Gwaethir's reassurances, she couldn't shake the twisting anxiety that had welled up in the pit of her stomach.

_Legolas should have been here by now._ The thought made her chest ache. She wanted to get up, to pace, to wander the halls until she found him, just in case he actually _was_ in the city and couldn't come to her. She knew it was a foolish wish, though, because she couldn't walk far with her injury and she would get lost anyway.

Another thought dawned on her. The only people she had spoken to were Thranduil and Gwaethir, and they had sent a healer with whom she could barely communicate. And even though Gwaethir had passed it off as a trifle, Alassëa had not been to see her – perhaps not _allowed_ to see her.

_Am I being isolated?_ she wondered with a sick chill. _Is it crazy to even think that? Gwaethir knows me – and I talked with all the guards on the way here from Minas Tirith!_ She remembered how cryptic everyone had been when she had asked about the Elvenking. Did he not trust her?

Every part of her wanted Legolas. Without him, this strange new place didn't make sense. And she couldn't shake that indefinable sense of loss – all she knew was that she felt hollow, and yet very heavy, both at the same time.

_Hurry back to me, Legolas._

* * *

Many thanks, as always, to Amelia for being a totally rad alpha reader. :)

8.22.14


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **You guys! I am so grateful for the response to this fic. Thank you so much! Love and hugs to you all. :)

* * *

_**Super Brief Recap:**__ Meghan's injury is slowly mending, but Legolas still hasn't returned from the border._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Meghan had somehow rolled onto her injured side while she slept, and it hurt.

The throbbing woke her up, a pulsing ache that radiated from her lower abdomen through to her back. By then the lights really had dimmed to the point of only illuminating the edges of the room, although Meghan wasn't sure if it was deliberate or if they had just burned low. She groaned, wondering how long she'd been asleep.

It felt like the middle of the night, so she heaved herself onto her other side and settled into the pillows. For a moment she considered pulling the silver cord to ask for an update about Legolas, but she reminded herself that it would be pointless. The best thing she could do was sleep so that she was rested when he and the other Elves got back. Wiping away a rogue tear, she curled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew was that the bed dipped under someone's weight, and she popped her eyes open to see Legolas sliding under the covers next to her. For one split second, it didn't even register what was happening.

And then she burst into tears.

He immediately turned onto his side to face her, murmuring soft words in Sindarin as he brought Meghan's hand up to his lips to kiss it – right on the inside of her wrist, where her pulse beat a steady rhythm.

"You're okay," she choked out.

"I am sorry that I was delayed," he replied, releasing her hand so that he could wipe her cheek with his thumb. "Urúvien became so ill that we sheltered in one of the border watchposts until his fever passed."

"But you're _real_," she sobbed, the tears coming harder now. "I didn't—I didn't know—" She couldn't even get the words out. It finally hit her how overwrought she was, and how much she had suppressed her anxiety and confusion. Now that Legolas was here and she wasn't alone among strangers, she could let her guard down – but she couldn't stop crying.

"Of course I am real," he said. Meghan wasn't sure which one of them had moved closer, but she had practically wedged herself next to him. He curled his arm around her, careful to avoid her injury. "What caused this fear, my Meghan?"

"I don't know," she mumbled into his shirt, since she had buried her face against him. Being so close to him helped and after a few more deep breaths, she didn't feel like panic was clawing up her throat anymore. She rolled back a bit, because even though he smelled wonderful it was getting a bit stuffy to have her face mashed into his chest. "Well, I mean, while I was unconscious I had the weirdest dream."

He looked worried. "What do you mean?"

"It took me awhile to remember, once I woke up here, and I still don't really remember everything about it. But I dreamed that I was back home, and lots of time had passed there, and _this_ was the dream," she said. "It felt _so real_. Like, I had a job, and an apartment, and the Backstreet Boys got back together."

"I do not understand," Legolas said, his brow crinkling. "What are back street boys?"

"They're a band," she replied. His expression didn't change, so she tried again. "They're traveling minstrels? It doesn't matter. I was back in my old life, and – and – my _mom_ was there. All these months that I've been here in Middle earth and I never dreamed about my family. I think – it just felt _so_ real, Legolas.

He had been listening intently, but at her last sentence he tensed. "How could that be?" he asked, his voice even.

"I don't know," she whispered. "But – what if it was real, and I'm still dreaming now?"

"You are not dreaming." He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, his mouth warm against hers. "Surely it was just a product of your fever. Urúvien's wound was not so deep yours, and he spent the night in agony and confusion. I was sick with fear for you."

"I'm fine," she said. She didn't know how to articulate how much she had missed him, so instead she just leaned forward to kiss him again. It was then that she finally noticed the faint dampness of his hair and the soft grey undertunic that he wore. "How long have you been back?"

"Nearly two hours," he admitted. "My brother only permitted me a brief moment to see you when first I arrived, though you were still sleeping. Then he persuaded me to bathe and speak with my father."

"Your dad is very tall," Meghan said, instinctively scrunching up a little bit. "And I kinda wanted to touch his eyebrows."

Legolas chuckled, and she could feel the vibrations of it in his chest. "When I was a child, I was fascinated by them. I wanted mine to grow in just like his."

She squinted up at him. "I'm glad they didn't. You would have been terrifying."

He laughed harder this time, so Meghan pressed closer to him because she loved feeling it so much. _I want to stay like this forever,_ she thought, listening now to the steady tempo of his heartbeat through his shirt.

"What happened to Urúvien?" she asked after a moment. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, though it was a bitter night of recovery for him. His brother knows a little of medicine and eased what misery he could."

"I'm glad he's alright."

Legolas just made a quiet agreeing sound and didn't reply. His hand traced lazy circles on her back in a gentle, comforting pattern. Meghan shifted positions a little to get more comfortable against him. After a few minutes, she noticed that his breathing began to slow and deepen, and his hand dropped away. Instantly all she could think about was another place of healing, when he had taken the wound to his side after the Battle of Pelennor Fields and needed sleep to recover.

"Legolas," she whispered.

He took in a breath through his nose as if rousing himself. "What is it, my Meghan?" he asked, definitely sounding drowsy.

"Are you falling asleep? What's wrong?"

"I am only tired." He reached behind his head to adjust the pillows. "As Urúvien recovered, spiders swarmed the watch post and gave us little respite."

"Were you hurt?" She tried to inconspicuously examine him, which mostly consisted of running her hands up his torso to check for hidden bandages.

"No," he said, flinching away with a laugh when she accidentally tickled his side. Then he actually yawned – he _yawned!_ – and Meghan almost choked on her own spit at how adorable it was. "But I have not rested since you were wounded and now I am weary. And this bed is very comfortable, and you are very warm…" Another yawn. "Though I wish you would not move your body _quite_ so irresistibly against mine."

She smiled innocently as she slid her leg in between his knees. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know how many promises of propriety I had to make before I was allowed into your room unescorted?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We are in the wilds no longer. Here in my father's court we will be closely attended. You will find a healer coming to check your bandages at least once an hour so long as I am in this room."

"I know, I know," she sighed, though she didn't pull away. "We still have another ten months before our betrothal year is up. But it's kind of adorable that everybody is afraid I'm going to steal your virtue."

"I would give it to you at once if I did not fear my people's censure," he replied, settling deeper into the pillows.

_Always so very proper,_ Meghan thought. But he looked so peaceful there, stretched out beside her with one arm trapped under her head and the other flung lazily across her waist, that she only wanted to let him rest. _We can talk about getting married another day._

"Goodnight," she said as she kissed his chin, since it was the only thing she could reach without moving too far.

He tilted his head down to meet her, his lips warm against her own. "It is nearly morning by now."

"Shhh, we only have about forty-five more minutes until one of your chaperones comes to check on us. Go to sleep while you still can."

"Goodnight, then." He closed his eyes and shifted onto his back, though he didn't draw his arm from under her head. After a little while, his breathing evened out and he somehow got heavier, and Meghan tried to be very, very still so that she wouldn't wake him back up.

At first it surprised her how quickly he fell asleep, until she figured that Elves were so in-tune with their bodies that they could probably just will themselves to sleep. Or maybe it was because he felt safe for the first time in days – or maybe it was just because he was finally home. Whatever the reason, Meghan was grateful for the steady weight of him beside her, someone she could anchor onto even though he was sleeping.

Now that she was alone again with her thoughts, the cold coils of doubt laced up her spine. This certainly felt real, with the dull ache in her side and the way Legolas' chest rose and fell under her hand. But how could she have dreamed so vividly of her other life? Was it even possible that it was real, too?

_Wherever I went, I'm back again,_ she thought. _And I hope that I stay here always._

After a little while, she heard footsteps outside the door – surely deliberate, since Elves walked silently even in their own halls. Then the latch opened, and she looked over to see Gwaethir poking his head into the room. Before he could speak, Meghan shot him the most discouraging look she could muster and shook her head a bit.

Understanding dawned across his face, and he moved slowly to approach them. On their journey from Minas Tirith, Meghan had taught him the meaning of a thumbs-up sign (to his great delight), and he used it now with raised eyebrows as if asking a question. And since he had taught her a similar signal for the Mirkwood Elves, she lifted her two forefingers up to the corner of one eye and brought them back to her ear. It meant _I can see, I can hear, all is well_, which had been a much more palatable reason compared to Meghan attempting to explain that the thumbs-up originated from Roman emperors deciding who would live or die in the coliseum.

Gwaethir nodded in satisfaction at her response. Then something came over his expression that could only be described as wicked, and he broke into one of the most gleeful smiles she had ever seen. He gave her a look that dared her to stop him as he menacingly extended a hand toward Legolas while wiggling his fingers. It took Meghan a split second to realize that Gwaethir intended to tickle his sleeping brother.

She pointing a finger at him with the silent, scathing look usually reserved for mothers chastising their children in public – and it actually worked. Gwaethir moved away with a wink and grin, as if to say, _I didn't really mean it._ She maintained the look long enough to make sure he backed all the way to the door, where he put his hands up in surrender. Then his expression shifted into a friendly smile, and Meghan knew the game was up and he had returned to his role as healer.

He raised one eyebrow at her as he opened the door and stepped halfway out of the room. She tried to convey _I promise that I won't deflower the second son of Eryn Lasgalen between now and the next check-up_ in her expression, although an eye-roll was perhaps a bit much. He seemed to catch her meaning though, since he grimaced in feigned disgust at her as he closed the door behind him.

Glancing up at Legolas, Meghan wondered if their exchange had woken him. But he hadn't moved except that his mouth had opened a little bit in the relaxation of sleep, and she thought, _I can protect you, too. Even if it's just from your ridiculous older brother._

Whatever was left of the night passed quietly. Meghan couldn't fall back asleep, and didn't particularly want to anyway. Legolas had been right – someone came to check on them like clockwork, usually Gwaethir but once or twice an older-looking Elf woman that Meghan didn't recognize, although she favoured Nesseldë in her features and dusky complexion.

Meghan waved them off each time, and though the lights in the room began to burn brighter again, Legolas did not stir. She had just decided that it must be fully morning when the door opened again, except this time the tall healer from before entered.

_King Thranduil,_ she reminded herself as she fought down a panicky instinct to disentangle herself from Legolas.

The Elvenking's face did not betray anything as he moved closer to the bed, and she tried very hard not to hide under the covers. He wasn't looking at her, though; instead, his eyes were on his son. He reached out and then hesitated for a moment, before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind Legolas' ear. It was done far more delicately than Meghan would have thought possible for someone who looked like he could cut down an army single-handedly, until she remembered how he had sat at her bedside until she woke while reading a book about flowers.

"You have been watching over him," he murmured in that deep, thoughtful voice. It was spoken quietly enough that it didn't wake Legolas, although he stirred a little and then settled again.

"Yes," she whispered in reply even though he hadn't really posed it as a question.

"He has not slept peacefully thus in many years," Thranduil said. He sat once more in the chair by the bed, looking lost in thought. "When I sent him to attend the council in Imladris, I believed he would return swiftly to the eaves of this forest and that our lives would be little changed. And now all has changed, and the leaves are growing green again, and my son has found a maiden to share this renewed joy."

Meghan thought of Thranduil's wife who could not bear the darkening of her home and had sailed across the sea to escape it. She realized that she didn't know what to call her, since to Legolas and Gwaethir she was simply 'mother.' _The King must miss her so much,_ she thought. _And how sad that she didn't know that things would get better, and she had to leave before they did._

"What's her name?" she asked. "Your wife, I mean."

He looked at her for the first time since he entered, his face impassive. But Meghan was beginning to learn how to read him, and he crinkled his brow the same way Legolas did when he was surprised. "She was called Eleniel here, for all of Oropher's folk took Silvan names when first we came to these trees," Thranduil replied as his tone softened. "But for my part, she is Elarinya, the name she told me when I met her under the boughs of Doriath."

Meghan thought perhaps he was about to open up to her about his wife, but instead he stood, once again a stern king.

"Are you well enough to walk?" he asked, brisk and businesslike.

"I think so," she replied. It was probably time for Legolas to wake up anyway, so she carefully eased away from him and sat up. The motion jostled him enough that he blinked his eyes open, bleary for only the briefest second before he quickly took in the situation.

"Good morning, Adar," he said as he also sat up. Despite feeling a little same way herself, Meghan bit down laughter at the panic-stricken politeness that Legolas fell back on at the awkwardness of his father finding him in bed with a woman.

"Good morning, ion nin," Thranduil replied, his voice faintly tinged with humor. "I would speak with you both in the council hall. There is much that I would hear from you, if the lady is well enough to bear it."

"My side hardly hurts at all anymore," Meghan said, although she wondered how much walking would affect it.

"Then I will see you in half an hour." With that, Thranduil swept out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"He will want to question you about your history," Legolas said, folding the covers back and getting out of bed. "Gwaethir could tell me little of Father's mind in this, only that he did not seem surprised when Gwaethir tried to explain why you spoke so strangely in your fever."

Meghan wasn't sure if she was ready to get out from the blankets just yet. "I feel like I'm about to go on trial."

"We must speak the truth to him and hope that he accepts it." He leaned across the space he had been occupying in the bed and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"What if he _doesn't_ accept it?"

"Then we will find our friend Gimli among the stones of Erebor and petition his cousin the King for sanctuary," Legolas replied with one of his sunny grins. "The horror of us living amongst the Naugrim would surely lessen my father's doubts." She laughed, and he kissed her again. "I must go to dress more appropriately, though I am loath to leave you."

"I am loath for you to leave," Meghan said as she began to ease out of bed. He hovered uncertainly at her elbow, ready to catch her at the first sign of unsteadiness.

"Are you certain that you are well enough?" he asked.

She stood fully, testing the wound on her side with one hand. It still ached when she moved, but compared to the day before it felt much better. "I can't even really remember how many days I've been lying in bed. I'm ready to get out of this room and at least see a little more of the city. I _promise_ I'll take it easy," she added at his worried look.

"Meghan, when you—" He paused, as if the words pained him. "When you lay in my arms, bleeding from a poisoned wound, I thought perhaps you would die."

_I __did__ die,_ Meghan realized. _I think I died for a minute and your father brought me back._

Legolas looked like he was struggling to continue. Finally, he offered her a shy smile and said, "I am glad that you did not."

"Me too," she laughed, mostly because he had obviously meant to make a grand romantic speech and gotten a bit too choked up, so instead settled on _it's cool that you're alive_. "But remember what I said about crying and saying you love me? That's all going to have to wait until I can marry you."

He leaned down to kiss her, which she thought was an enormously unfair response. "Ten more months," he whispered in her ear before planting a quick peck on her cheek. Just then, the door swung open and Nesseldë stepped in.

"Ai, díheno nin!" she exclaimed, absolutely mortified and moving to retreat.

"It's okay," Meghan said at the same time that Legolas said something in Sindarin to the same effect as he moved away from her.

Nesseldë suspiciously re-entered, looking for all the world like she expected them to consummate their relationship right then despite the fact that they were now at least ten feet apart. She clutched a bundle in her arms and gestured to it as she spoke to Legolas too quickly for Meghan to understand.

"She says that she has brought clothing for you," he translated after Nesseldë finished speaking. "Though she apologizes if the fit is poor."

"Hannon le," Meghan said directly to her, then turned back to Legolas. "You should go get changed. I have a feeling we really shouldn't be late."

"I will return here so that I can show you the way. Hannon le, Nesseldë." He gave Meghan a quick smile and Nesseldë a nod, and then closed the door behind him.

Nesseldë seemed to shake off her embarrassment and began to work with calm and efficient certainty. As before, she hardly spoke as she helped Meghan, but she seemed to know just how to support her without causing her stomach any pain. Within a few minutes, Meghan found herself out of her nightclothes and into a soft, pale dress. The draped sleeves were a bit too long over her fingertips, but Nesseldë folded them back and neatly set a few stitches to hold them in place.

"Thank you," Meghan said as she finished. "I mean, um, hannon le."

"Galu andh, bainrodel," Nesseldë replied, dipping her head, and Meghan thought perhaps she was wishing her good luck.

She was spared from trying to struggle through any more Sindarin by a knock on the door, and Nesseldë opened it. It was Legolas, now wearing what must be his guard uniform. Nesseldë dropped into a curtsey and slipped past him, and Meghan went to the door.

"You look very beautiful," he said with a smile.

"Thanks, you too," she replied, a little distracted. Seeing him dressed so formally reminded her of how much depended on Thranduil believing them. _He could think I'm completely crazy._ And even though Legolas had passed it off as a joke, she hated the idea of him choosing her over his family.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Meghan took a deep breath. "Yes," she said, taking his arm and shutting the door behind her.

* * *

As always, many thanks to Amelia, who turns editing each chapter into a game of "find the blue streak" and is generally fantastic.

09.30.14


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